The other night, I made a claim about having “pregnancy brain.” Susan scoffed at me, “Come on! Really?” Mom argued that it wasn’t pregnancy brain but the result of losing memory by being a mother and that it is directly correlated to the number of children you have. I stood by my original claim.
Tonight I was even more convinced of the reality of this phenomenon. At the park, I kept coming up short for proper words. Even now, I am unable to remember the finer details (maybe moms hypothesis is true?), but I do recall I used the word “caughtched.” As in, “Wow, Philip! You caughtched that ball all by yourself!” Somewhere between “caught” and “catch.”
Sometimes this happens to the best of us, I know.
But every other sentence?
If I was little – as in under 8 yrs old or so – it would be cute, this making up of words. Just a few nights ago Max was asking, “How big is a Stalydascale?” We couldn’t figure out what he was referring to until he mentioned something about a horse and it occured to me he was talking about (his new #1 on the pet wish list,) a CLYDESDALE.
Cute right?
However, he had been working that word over and over in his mind, trying to get it right. My mixed up words just come out of no where with me cockily assuming I can speak like a native born American adult.
But we all know what happens when we assume . . .
(I’d tell you, but I just might get it mixed up.)